Scars
by Katie1995
Summary: '"And what did you use this time, Meg?" Charlotte continued, now holding her by the shoulders. "An old blade?" Meg didn't reply to the question; she couldn't remember herself.' Meg's not what everyone believes her to be. A shining star on the outside, she is nothing but shattered on the inside and she's only hoping someone saves her before she destroys herself. T Trigger warning.


Meg ran the the blade across the pale flesh of her arms, feeling the familiar, comforting stream of blood rolling down her lower arms, her eyes closed, her breathing - once laboured - becoming calm once more. Leaning her back against the wall, she drew her knees up under her chin, dropping the bloodied blade to the floor as she tipped her head back in despair, hot tears falling down her face, mimicking the the blood that was now crusting upon her skin. Scars had still not had time to heal and now she had reopen them, her flesh an amalgamation of patterns ranging from harsh reds to pale pinks.

Still, she couldn't find it in her to care anymore.

"Meg, forty-five minutes until you're on," called a stage hand, his voice muffled behind the locked dressing room door.

Meg allowed herself to breathe out deeply, her tears drying in salty stains down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged herself tightly together. "Thank you," she called back, her voice strong unlike herself.

Still, she spent a few more moments sat emotionless, not daring to move until the familiar sound of her mother's footfalls sounded behind her door, a soft knock following soon after. Panicking, she got to her feet quickly, running to the sink by her dressing table and placing a wet cloth over her bloodied arms, gently removing the dried blood. "Meg, may I come in?" Her mother's voice made her work quicker.

Draining the red water from the sink, she threw the cloth in one of her vanity drawers, throwing her dress over her petticoats and corset, hiding the wounds the best she could with the long sleeves that were just slightly too short.

"One minute!" Meg replied, pulling at the ends of the sleeves until she was satisfied she looked at least decent. Washing her face, she did her best to remove any evidence that she had been crying away from her cheeks and eyes, taming the red blotchy patches in vain before dusting herself in a fine powder and placing rouger upon both cheeks, finishing with a fine red paint upon her lips. She gave herself a smile in her reflection, convincing herself that everything was all right before allowing her mother into the room.

Her mother offered her a wide smile, embracing her with intensity before letting her go, placing a curl of her hair behind her ear - her hair still completely dishevelled from her earlier activities.

"And what gives you the right to be so happy?" she asked, pulling away and forcing a smile upon her scarlet lips.

"I have just seen Erik, he is writing something fantastic, Meg; something glorious!" Her mother's eyes were alight with something she hadn't seen in her before since arriving on Coney Island. Hope? Maybe even... greed?

Trying to seem as equally impressed, as equally as excited, Meg played along. She didn't want to raise her hopes up too high, hating the hurt she should face if these claims were untrue. "For me?" she whispered, a spark in her own eyes.

Madame Giry nodded, cupping one of Meg's cheeks with a soft palm. "Continue to work hard, Meg," she replied, placing two tender hands on Meg's shoulder before turning her daughter's back towards her and lacing the rest of her dress up. "He is noticing us, finally," she finished, giving one last tug on on the laces of Meg's dress before letting go.

Meg kept on smiling as her mother kissed her cheek and left with a 'break a leg.' She couldn't help but feel guilty at how much her mother irked her.

'He is noticing us, finally.'

Meg grimaced at her words. 'Us.' Her mother had done little to secure his position. Meg had single handedly made Erik the man he was. Without her charm, without her body, he would be nothing!

Gripping the nearest thing to her, Meg waited until the sudden anger passed, wanting to destroy anything she could get her hands on; wanting to destroy herself.

The stagehand knocked on her door again. "Half an hour!"

She applied one final layer of lipstick before leaving the mess of her dressing room behind, locking the door behind her and walking down the claustrophobic backstage corridors to the wings of the stage, the other girls already there - talking and laughing like they always were, excited for the upcoming show. Meg could only smile as she walked to the crowd of girls, greeting them each with burning enthusiasm. They were so young and so unharmed by the world that it made Meg want to shield them from the world, take them under their wing and never have to show them the shadows of this life. Being nearly ten years older than the youngest of them all, Meg felt extremely maternal towards them - always there if something had hurt them - always there if they ever needed her; for how much longer she wasn't sure. Lately it had become more and more difficult to wake up each morning and want to live, but it was these girls who kept her grounded, not the promise of something more, not the promise of something unbelievably out of the question, but the girls who she danced with who kept her tied to her body.

"Meg!" exclaimed one of the younger girls, kissing both her cheeks before pulling away.

"Tonight's the night! You're going to blow them out of the water!" Meg tried to smile, which she did with extreme effort, but she couldn't help but feel... unsatisfied.

Isn't this all she had ever wanted?

No; when reflecting on her life choices, maybe it wasn't. Had Meg allowed her mother to overshadow her, dominate the way in which her life had gone? That answer seemed more likely than anything else.

Meg realised that after giving so much, she just wanted a better life than she was living now; barely enough money for the rent, barely a life when she had to sell herself for money Erik should be paying her. Paling, Meg leaned against one of the walls, steadying herself. She just needed someone to see the pain in which she was drowning in, but she hid herself so well she knew no-one would ever care until she was gone. No-one would ever truly see the trouble she went through until she was gone completely.

"Meg." Charlotte's voice was soft, allowing Meg's thoughts to tame as she looked up to find the older woman's eyes. By older, she meant mature - Charlotte was the same age as Meg, twenty-eight, and she was one of her closest friends and confidants. "You don't seem very happy, my dear," she continued, leaning against the wall next to Meg, her hand finding Meg's and their fingers entwining together lightly.

Meg shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine," she countered with effort she knew Charlotte would see straight through. "Just nervous, is all."

Meg saw Charlotte frown from the corner of her eye and she threw her gaze to the floor, unable to look up. "I don't believe you, Meg, and don't tell me I'm being 'over concerned' about your well being."

With her chest falling, Meg sighed, feeling the weight of the evening upon her again. "Please, help me get into my costume," she whispered.

Charlotte offered Meg a small smile as she met her gaze again, but the sadness in her friend's eyes made it falter and fall. "Come on then," she agreed, tugging her along lightly to a small changing room underneath the stage - costumes everywhere in all directions, make-up scattered over the dressing room tables. Unhooking and unlacing the back of Meg's dress, Meg allowed the material to fall from her and to the floor, pooling around her feet. Meg did her best to hide the damage she had done to herself, but Charlotte was no fool.

"Give me your arms, Meg," she whispered, coaxing Meg's arms away from behind her back and taking each exposed wrist in gentle fingers of both hands. Meg could see the disappointment in her eyes and she cleared her throat in discomfort, trying not to cry again.

"Why, Meg?" she asked, quietly. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

Meg pulled her wrists out from Charlotte's grasp and dropped her arms to her side, turning her face away from her friend completely before walking over to the costume rack and pulling the costume on with ease, her friend catching her mid-action.

"They're not even clean, Meg," she urged, her voice rising considerably. "What are you trying to do, kill yourself?"

Meg caught her breath. What if she was? "I'm perfectly aware of what I'm doing, Charlotte," she replied, her voice strong.

"And what did you use this time, Meg?" Charlotte continued, now holding her by the shoulders. "An old blade?" Meg didn't reply to the question; she couldn't remember herself. Charlotte dropped her gaze to the floor and sighed, going over to the sink which every dressing room held, wetting a clean cloth before walking back over to Meg. "Sit," she ordered. Meg threw herself down, her costume back upon the rack, ready for her until she was prepared completely this time.

She watched with great concentration as her friend took her right lower arm into her grasp so very tenderly, placing the luke warm flannel across her ruined flesh. Wincing, Meg drew her fingers into her palm so her hand was now a fist, pinching the skin with her fingernails. "See," her friend continued, "If you had cleaned yourself up properly, it wouldn't sting so much." Charlotte's voice was firm, but her eyes were soft upon Meg's face, tears shining in her eyes, yet to be shed. "Why?" she repeated again, placing the flannel under the tap again and ringing it of the dirty water before placing ir refreshed upon Meg's other arm, her eyes searching Meg's face for an answer.

"Sometimes it gets too much," she replied, equally as quiet. Charlotte didn't know nor did need to know what she had done - what she was doing - to keep their boss in prime position.

"Why don't you come to me?" she asked, her voice low and her eyes holding a pain Meg knew too well - betrayal.

"Please don't think this is your fault, Charlotte," she whispered, cupping her face and placing a kiss to her forehead. "None of this is your fault - I would have come to you, but I don't want to burden you with such problems."

"You think I don't want to help?" Charlotte countered, her voice tinged with slight frustration. "My god, Meg, you can't do this to yourself!"

Meg rose from the chair, turning her back on her friend as she took the costume from the rack again and threw it over her thin body. "And why not?" she retorted with an eerie calmness. "Give me a reason why I can't do this to myself," she pressed, waiting for an answer, her arms

crossed against her chest.

Charlotte walked towards her, grabbing her shoulders gently before pressing Meg into her, her arms holding Meg against her in a desperate embrace. "Because if things go wrong, Meg, you'll most likely be gone..."

"Dead?" The words made a chill go up the spine of both women and they let go, both not daring to meet each other's eyes.

"How can you be so calm about all of this?" Charlotte demanded, disappointed with her friend's obvious want to end her life.

Meg merely shrugged her shoulders. She didn't understand herself any more. "I don't care any more," she replied, finally.

Meg looked up quick enough to see Charlotte wiping tears away from her eyes, brushing them off her cheeks and trying to calm her breathing. "I thought it was getting better, Meg," she whispered, her voice cracking now.

"I tried, but I can't do this any more, Charlotte. I struggle to even get up in the morning; do you want a friend like that?" she asked, forcefully. "No, I didn't think so."

"You're right," Charlotte responded, angrily. "Because I'd rather find my friend dead and gone rather than here, breathing, speaking, living."

Her words hit Meg hard and she bit her bottom lip to refrain a sob. She wasn't going to cry. "Don't guilt trip me, Charlotte," she begged, "Please."

Charlotte shook her head, walking towards Meg again and helping her lace the costume up at the back. Meg clung to the edge of the dressing table, feeling restriction of both her corset and costume - making it hard to breathe, although she was sure it was just the guilt that made her breathing difficult. Done, Charlotte pulled away, but Meg turned around, grabbing her hand in her own before she could pull away completely.

"I'm sorry, I really am."

Charlotte glanced back at the tiny dancer, tears shining in her eyes. "Don't apologise to me, Meg," she replied, calmly. "You're hurting yourself, not me."

Meg dropped her hand back to her side and nodded, mutely, hurting so much internally inside. "Tell me now, where was my fault?" Charlotte shook her head at Meg's question, breathing in sharply before embracing Meg's thin figure. She could tell that she hadn't been eating properly either - she hadn't seen Meg so thin - felt her so thin since she arrived.

"This needs to stop Meg, you're slowly destroying yourself and I can't stand here and watch you wither away." Meg pulled back, brushing the tears away that fell down Charlotte's cheeks with her thumb.

"I'll be okay," she promised.

A silence fell upon both figures - calm once more, although both had internal wars raging inside of them - only noticeable should you find their eyes, holding such an intensity, you wouldn't be able to hold their gaze.

"No you won't," Charlotte whispered, kissing Meg's head gently as she brushed a golden curl behind her friend's ear. "You won't be okay because you hurt too much," she continued.

"You don't know how I feel," Meg countered, although deep down she knew Charlotte was right. She hurt more than she could describe. "I don't know how I feel myself."

Charlotte took a deliberate step back, rolling her sleeves up with difficulty before showing Meg her arms. "Really, Meg?" she asked with surprising softness. "You don't think I know how you feel?"

Meg shook her head, whispering a faint "no" as she took Charlotte's arm in a tender grasp. "Charlotte, no," she repeated.

Suddenly Meg's problems seemed so stupid, so small.

"Meg, I know how lost you feel - I've been there many times before. Please don't do this to yourself because one day, you may never be there."

Tears rolling down her cheeks, she absent mindedly trailed her fingertips across the bumpy scars and fresh cuts before glancing back up at her friend. "You think I can beat this?" she asked with no faith in herself.

Taking one of the fair headed dancer's hands in her own, Charlotte nodded. "I do, yes," she assured, offering Meg a small smile of reassurance.

Almost hyperventilating, Meg nodded slowly. "H-help me?" she begged, her eyes desperate.

"Always."

Cleaning themselves up, Charlotte helped Meg conceal the scars on her arms. The public wouldn't be any wiser that way. This was Coney Island's 'Bathing Beauty', not a destroyed young woman. With collected calmness, she took her place beside Charlotte on stage and as the lights dimmed and the spotlight beamed down, blinding Meg against the audience, that loneliness that hurt her seemed somewhat smaller than before, because now she had hope and that was worth something more than the life she led now.

**A/N: A quick one shot. I feel like Meg was seriously misunderstood in LND. She was a girl of barely 18, forced to do things against her will which she wouldn't have fully have understood, leading her to have grown into adolescence bitter and cold towards the man who ruined her life.**

**Reviews are always welcome, I just hope you enjoyed this little insight, or what I think would be an insight, into Meg's life.**

**Thank you for reading,**

**- Katie1995**


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